Page 3 of Last Love

“Can’t?” She sassily challenges on a head tilt. “Or won’t, Collins?”

Shouldn’t.

Real fucking talk, I shouldn’t have anything to do with her.

When we first met, she was a warm conversation.

Embodied proof I could socialize outside of my own brain.

Confirmation with beautiful blue eyes I could make a connection that didn’t revolve around Molly or White Widow.

But now…now she’s nothing more than a reminder of a lifestyle I plan to stay far the fuck away from.

Kara isn’t the kind of individual who truly wants to stay clean.

No.

Her sobriety is just like her trips to these meetings.

Temporary.

And my ass is no longer interested in temporary.

I want permanent.

I need permanent.

And I know I still have a shit ton of fucking work to do to get there.

“Come on, Collins,” she tries to seduce while batting her long, fake eyelashes my direction. “You know you wanna…”

Dormant urges begin to simmer pushing me to deny her fast and harsher. “Can’t.”

Her mouth twitches to entice me further yet is quickly cut off.

“Really, Kara. I fucking can’t.” A casual throat clearing buries the unwanted cravings for trouble. “My brother’s parked outside waiting for me.”

“Bummer,” she whispers and licks away the frosting from the corner of her lip. “Next time then?”

Rather than lying or openly rejecting her again, I simply do what she did.

I wink with a crooked smile.

Kara beams wider and gently knocks into me as she passes by.

Relieved by her self-removal, I turn around to reach for another chocolate donut only to discover they’re all gone.

Sonofabitch.

Is there really no fucking reward for doing the right thing?!

I let out a heavy disappointed sigh and contemplate the two options left.

Do I go for the bright yellow lemon bread or a suspiciously shaped cheese Danish?

Neither seem like the best choice but then again, both have to be better than those fucking cookies.

Just as I reach for the piece of bread someone else does too. His hand is larger and more aggressive than mine, forcing me to back off, but the unique helmet tattoo wedged in the space between his index finger and thumb causes me to comment, “SGMC.”

Dark brown eyes instantly cut my direction.

“Silver Guard Motorcycle Club,” I quietly continue in spite of his narrowing gaze. “Gonna guess the SAA underneath it is for Sergeant at arms.”

He lifts the piece of bread towards his mouth.

“You in the Highland chapter?”

A large bite is taken rather than an answer given.

“Doc is your Prez?”

He grunts at the question prior to asking his own. “You one of his?”

“Was.”

The word receives a nod and an extension of his other hand. “Law.”

“Collins.”

“Got a sponsor?”

“Not yet.”

“You need one.”

“Yeah, well, my ass can’t even get a fucking dessert from this table,” I light-heartedly joke, hands shoving themselves into my pockets, “let alone someone to fucking baby sit me.”

“You think that’s what a fucking sponsor is?”

Yes.

However, the continued glare I’m getting tells me I better not say that shit.

---